Just the Way You are
by Schattengestalt
Summary: They should discuss the change of their relationship. They really should. It's not every day after all that you snog your best friend in the kitchen. Still, it's hard to find an appropriate time to talk about your feelings, when you chase after a serial killer. Johnlock. Trans*lock.
1. The Definition of Perfection

**Author Notes** : As promised, this story is longer than the last one and I have planned for it to have three chapters in total. I will only be able to post the next chapter in about three weeks, though (and that's the earliest possible date), because I'm going on weeklong trip to London, starting next Monday.^^

 **Appreciation:** The story was inspired by my conversations with **Caycen**! Thank you, for bribing my muse with this idea! =)

And now, all of you, enjoy the first chapter! :)

 **The Definition of Perfection**

"Of course! Obviously, that's why... fascinating!"

All eyes turned to Sherlock, who was busy painting a complicated looking diagram on the black board, where all the murders had been listed by Greg. John sat up straighter in his chair as he watched how Sherlock practically vibrated with excitement, while the case of their newest serial killer unraveled itself before his eyes. Not that John - or any of the police officers in the room - were any the wiser, but judging from Sherlock's mumbled words, John was certain that the case would be solved soon.

He sighed in relief and took a sip from the lukewarm, brownish brew - that was supposed to be coffee - as he allowed himself to hope for an successful end to the last couple of horrible days. Not that John hadn't enjoyed the chase all around London - interviewing witnesses and meeting shady acquaintances of his best friend, but... John had envisioned the last couple of days to go differently, on the morning Greg had brought the case to their attention.

 _"Sherlock!" John knocked at the door of the bathroom for the countless time and sighed in frustration, when he didn't get a reply. It was all right for Sherlock to use the bathroom as he saw fit... but not for over an hour. "Sherlock, I would like to get showered and dressed as well... Preferably today!"_

 _"Don't be overly dramatic, John." The door was opened with a click and a wall of hot steam enfolded John, as Sherlock emerged from the bathroom. "It's not even noon yet. You don't have to go to work today and I made sure that you got a chance to use the bathroom, after you had gotten up, so unless you have consumed vast amounts of tea, you should be fine."_

 _A faint blush rose in John's cheeks at Sherlock's remark about his toilet habits, but he refrained from telling his friend off for cataloging every single part of John's life. At least, John hadn't needed to use the toilets at Speedy's, like the one time, when Sherlock had studied the decay rate of livers in the bathtub. The memory gave John pause as he followed Sherlock into the kitchen and gestured helplessly to the bathroom. "You didn't do... anything in there, did you?"_

 _An eloquent eyebrow was raised at John's question, while Sherlock helped himself to a cup of coffee. "No, John, I spent sixty-three minutes in the bathroom just staring at the wall and counting the tiles."_

 _John rolled his eyes at the sarcastic reply and cursed himself for his ill formulated question. "I mean, you didn't experiment in the bathroom... again."_

 _If possible the eyebrow climbed even higher, as blue eyes regarded John like he was an especially dumb species. "Do I look like I did anything besides showering, washing my hair and grooming myself?"_

 _The question probably wasn't meant as an invitation, but John couldn't stop his gaze from wandering at Sherlock's words. The dark curls were a mess of silky, wet gleaming strands and John longed to bury his nose in them and inhale Sherlock's unique scent, even as his eyes followed the trail of a drop of water as it ran down his friend's clavicle. For a second, it looked like the drop would just fall down, before it changed its path and headed for Sherlock's left nipple instead._

God, Watson, get a grip _, John ordered himself as a new wave of heat washed over his cheeks,_ you are a grown man, it's stupid to be jealous of a drop of water.

 _Still, John couldn't stop himself from imagining what would happen, if he was allowed to lick the moisture from the pink bud of flesh. Would Sherlock's nipple harden under John's lips? Would his friend enjoy the sensation? Or would his skin be numb to John's touch? The last thought gave John pause for a second, before he pushed it away with an inward sigh. No need to speculate about Sherlock's reactions, when Sherlock hadn't even given any indication that he was interested in this sort of thing with him._

 _"John." There was an uncertain quality to Sherlock's voice and John's eyes shot up to meet troubled blue eyes. "I'm... I know what you think... Or rather, I can deduce what you imagine and I..."_

 _John had to lean against the doorframe as Sherlock's words registered in his mind and made his heart jump with fear and hope at the same time. Was it too much to hope that Sherlock understood how John felt about him and returned his feelings? Or should he better prepare himself for a gentle - or not so gentle, knowing his friend - turn down? It was impossible to make a decision with his heart hammering away in his chest and his head drowning in a maelstrom of feelings and possibilities - and hormones - especially when Sherlock stepped up next to him with only a towel around his hips._

 _"What I'm trying to say is," Blue eyes flickered to John's lips, before jumping back up to meet John's gaze. A blush colored Sherlock's usually pale cheeks. "I'm not averse to the idea of Us, but..."_

 _John didn't give Sherlock a chance to voice his concerns as he stood up on his tiptoes and claimed his friend's lips with his own. They were soft and responsive as John moved his mouth against them and he all but melted into the kiss as he felt Sherlock's tentative hand at the base of his neck. John's whole body screamed for him to deepen the kiss and to snog Sherlock to within an inch of his life, but he refrained from any such actions and instead pecked Sherlock's lips one last time, before drawing back a little. John didn't know what his friend was comfortable with and he didn't want to spoil the moment by pushing Sherlock too far too fast... or worse, give his friend the impression that John was merely looking for a quickie, when he was interested in much more._

 _"John." Long fingers stroked the hair at the base of his neck, while blue eyes gazed down at him with a mixture of awe and... trepidation. John frowned slightly as he noted the worried lines on Sherlock's forehead. "I think you should be made aware that I..."_

 _"Boys, you have a visitor! The nice Inspector from Scotland Yard!" With a quiet curse, Sherlock stepped away from John, just when Mrs. Hudson huddled into the flat, with Greg on his heels._

 _"Oh Sherlock," Their landlady tsked as she laid eyes on him. "You shouldn't run around like this. You will catch a cold if you aren't more careful and then John will have to look after you. The poor dear, as if he doesn't already do anything else. Apropos anything else, Sherlock have you cleaned the fridge yet, after..."_

 _"Mrs. Hudson, if you could shut up for a few minutes, Lestrade could finally tell us what boring case, he isn't able to solve this time." Their landlady closed her mouth with an audible click and a hurt expression as Sherlock gestured for Greg to take a seat._

 _Usually, John would reprimand his friend for his rude words, but as it was, he was a little miffed at Mrs. Hudson as well. If she hadn't interrupted at the worst possible moment, John wouldn't have to wonder what Sherlock had been about to tell him. It had to be something important, judging from Sherlock's nervousness, just before he had been about to speak. John frowned slightly as he tried to solve this puzzle while listening halfheartedly to Greg's report about the Yard's latest case. John could only imagine one topic, Sherlock would be nervous about discussing with him and he was itching to assure his friend that it was fine. That it was all fine and... Damned, John should have thought of it much sooner and now..._

 _"Brilliant!" John's head jerked up at Sherlock's excited exclamation._

 _"What?" He managed, when Sherlock hurried of in the direction of his bedroom. "Serial killer. Five bodies so far. Each of them missing a different part of their bodies. The single parts weren't found anywhere. No connection between the victims. No clues as to the motivation of the killer. It's fantastic," Sherlock called over his shoulder and John couldn't stop his lips from curling up in response to his friend's obvious joy._

 _"I'll be ready in ten," John informed Sherlock as he hurried to the bathroom. There was no use trying to talk with Sherlock, when he was so excited about a case. Besides... John couldn't deny that he was thrilled as well. A serial killer... his blood was already singing with the promise of a chase through London. Still, John sighed as he went through his morning routine in new record time, he hoped that Sherlock would solve this case fast, so that they could go back to where they had left off, when Mrs. Hudson had interrupted them._

"John, you are brilliant!"

The unexpected compliment tore John from his daydreams as he met Sherlock's bright eyes across the room. "Thanks, but why..."

"Don't you see it?!"

John shook his head, even while his brain tried to make sense of Sherlock's drawing on the black board. It appeared familiar, but after living on a short nap of two hours, twelve cups of coffee and three bagels for the last forty-three hours, John couldn't pinpoint where he had seen it before. Apparently, the police officers were as clueless as John was, as Sherlock's exasperated sigh proved, when he pointed at the black board.

"The killer didn't know his victims. It wasn't anything personal. It's not even about the killing for him, he wants to create the perfect human being and with perfect I mean," Sherlock added a few lines to his diagram. "He wants to create a human being with the exact proportions of Leonardo da Vinci's drawing. He wants a human, which corresponds with the golden mean." John blinked slowly at the onslaught of information, while he tried to figure out how Sherlock had come to this conclusion and what John had to do with it. He remembered the drawing from his school days - something to do with the proportions of a circle - but he didn't understand how...

"And again, the Freak proves just how sick he is," Sally's mocking voice sounded from the back of the room and John had to bite his tongue to hold back a scathing remark. Sherlock had proven often enough that he was more than capable of taking Sally on alone. This time, his friend didn't even deem her remark worth a reply as he carried on with his explanation. "It was your remark about puzzles, in combination with this utter rubbish of English literature - which you forced me to read a couple of months ago - that brought me to this conclusion, John." A brilliant smile was bestowed open John, who shook his head in astonishment as he tried to catch up with Sherlock's brilliant mind. "You mean _Frankenstein_?" It was the only book - which wasn't scientific - that Sherlock had read in the last few months.

His friend nodded eagerly and ignored the skeptical looks of the police officers and Greg. "Our murderer takes the body parts of his victims to handicraft his own creature. He must have created some mathematical equitation to determine which proportions the single body parts have to have to create his _perfect_ human being. Of course, it's impossible to create a working body from single parts, but... I would love to see how he thought it would be possible to _awaken_ his creature."

"Alright," Greg interrupted Sherlock's deductions. "Assuming you are right, how do you explain that our murderer killed women and men alike? Does he want to create a couple?"

Sherlock's sigh echoed from the walls of the room as he rolled his eyes in exasperation at the DI. "No, it just means that the arms of two women had the perfect proportions and that the victims he harvested the legs and torso from, just happened to be men with the desired proportions."

"So, the creature of our serial killer will be a hybrid," one of the officers snickered and John mourned the fact that the man wouldn't be punished by having to clean the lavatories for the next couple of weeks. Sometimes, he really missed the army.

"And do you also know who will be the next victim of the killer, Freak?" Sally managed to glare at the officer and insult Sherlock at the same time as she turned her attention to the diagram on the black board.

"Even better," Sherlock flashed her a toothy grin. "I know where he handicrafts his creature."

All eyes were on Sherlock as he marked a spot on the map with a red X. It took John a few seconds to catch on, but when he did, a gasp escaped past his lips. "If you connect the places of all the murders you get a circle and he has his... _lab_ exactly in the center of it." Sherlock nodded in approval at John's conclusion and then turned to challenge Greg with a glare. "Shall we wait until he murders someone else or are you going to search this building?"

The DI sighed, but John could tell from his sagged posture and the lines in his face that he would follow Sherlock's lead, as crazy as the deductions sounded. The serial killer had played the police for weeks and everyone wanted to solve the case and end the madness. "Fine, I will send my men to the address. It can't be worse than some of the other tips we have received so far."

"Good, let me know, when you have arrested him, Lestrade. Come, John!"

Greg raised an eyebrow at John, when he followed Sherlock out of the room. Usually, Sherlock loved to be present for the arrest of a serial killer, so it was almost unheard of that he went home without complaint. John merely shrugged at Greg's silent inquiry, while he checked that his gun was in the pocket of his jacket at the same time. One never knew with Sherlock and John's suspicion was proven correct, when the brilliant genius hailed them a taxi and gave the driver the address of their suspect.

"You're mad," John muttered as he sat down next to Sherlock.

"And you love every second of this madness." Sherlock winked at him and John couldn't contain a small giggle as the driver brought them to the doorstep of yet another serial killer.

OOO

It was perfect.

Sherlock examined the house- a five storey building - with unconcealed glee. Of course, he had been certain - to a degree of 99% - that his deductions had been correct, but now he was absolutely sure that their killer was only just a few steps away from them.

"Look at the name plates, John," he whispered in excitement as his friend came to stand next to him. "Only two people still live in this building - a company wants to knock it down and build an underground car park here. One is an old woman - Mrs. Reader - and the other one is..."

"Our killer," John finished for him and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from beaming down at his friend. Solving cases was much more fun, when John was with him. Not only did his friend provide a perfect audience, but he was also a conductor of light, a strong fighter and he always watched his back, when Sherlock was too busy to worry about his own safety. The Work wouldn't be the same without John.

The thought sent a cold shiver down Sherlock's spine as it reminded him of the incident - the Kiss - a couple of days ago. This kiss, John's feelings for him and Sherlock's feelings for his best friend could change everything... to the better or the worse. And experience had taught Sherlock that while the former outcome was desired, the latter was far more likely to occur. It wasn't even his fault - as he had thought at first - but mostly a clash of expectations and reality, which had left Sherlock without a friend - or a partner - more often than not.

"Sherlock?" John's worried eyes looked up at him and Sherlock forced himself to focus on the present. There would be enough time later to worry about their relationship. For now, they had to catch a serial killer.

"We will ring Mrs. Reader's doorbell and she will open the front door. I'll check the apartment of our suspect and you'll search the cellar." John stiffened and Sherlock didn't have to be a genius to gather that his friend didn't like the idea of splitting up one bit. Before John could complain, though, Sherlock had already pressed Mrs. Reader's doorbell and was through the door a second later, when the release buzzer was activated.

"Sherlock," he heard John's angry hiss as he hurried up the stairs and was already on his way to the second storey. He didn't turn back. No matter how angry John would be with him later, he wouldn't endanger Sherlock's plan by disobeying his orders. The army had taught him as much. Besides, John shouldn't be in any real danger. Sherlock had only told him to search the cellar, because he wanted to cover all possibilities, but he was certain that the killer was working on his little project in his own flat.

Sherlock smirked as he picked the lock of the door and opened it as quietly as possible. He expected to be greeted by the smells of formaldehyde and/or decay, but... the air was clean. Sherlock sniffed in confusion as he ventured farther into the flat, even while a cold fist clenched around his chest.

He had been wrong!

The flat was perfectly clean. The carpets were hovered. The windows were cleaned. The furniture was polished. No one had experimented with body parts in this flat, which meant... A crashing noise from downstairs and Sherlock was flying down the stairs as fast as possible. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as it sent adrenalin and oxygen through his veins, while Sherlock could only think of John.

John, his best friend, who was loyal to a fault. John, who had followed Sherlock's orders and was now in the lab of a mad serial killer. John... who might get killed, before Sherlock got the chance to tell him how much he meant to him. The last thought cleared his mind and made Sherlock stop in his tracks at the door to the cellar, which was kept ajar. He couldn't allow his panic to control his actions if he wanted to save John.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, Sherlock moved down the narrow staircase. It ended in a hallway, which opened up in three directions, to various rooms in the cellar. Sherlock didn't even need to figure out where he had to go as John's strained voice led him in the right direction.

"That's some interesting scientific work, you have done, here."

Sherlock peeked around the corner of an open door and then crept into the room to hide behind an old bookshelf. This time the smell of formaldehyde and rotting human flesh was unmistakable. Sherlock bit down on the knuckles of his right hand to stop himself from retching. He couldn't even imagine how bad it had to be for John, who stood directly in front of the work place - a dissecting table - with the killer behind him. The man had an arm slung around John's chest and his right hand held a scalpel to John's vulnerable throat.

Sherlock forced back the panic that threatened to choke him as he tried to come up with a way to rescue his best friend. Both men had their backs to him, but Sherlock didn't have a weapon to attack the killer. The gun was in John's jacket pocket and even if he had it, Sherlock wouldn't dare shooting, out of fear that the killer would slice his friend's throat, before the bullet hit its target.

"My creature is almost perfect," the killer - Thomas Lang, if the name plate was to be believed - boasted. "Almost, but," Sherlock couldn't see what the man did, but it was enough to make John flinch minutely in his grip. "Yes, your head is perfect. It has the exact proportions, I was looking for. You'll be part of my creature. You'll give him, your face."

Sherlock didn't think. There was no time to plan his next actions carefully - not when John's life was flickering in the grip of a mad man - Sherlock could merely act and hope for the best. He stepped out from behind the bookshelf and threw the first book, he got his hands on, in the direction of the killer. Thomas Lang flinched momentarily and screamed a second later, when John elbowed him in the guts and disarmed him with a blow to his shoulder at the same time.

Sherlock crossed the space between them with a few steps and buried his fist in the face of the killer.

"You fucking bastard!" Sherlock grabbed the collar of Thomas Lang and pressed him against the dissecting table, without sparing a glance at the pathetic arrangement of body parts on it. "How dare you think of John as a part of your sick fantasy?! I should behead you and place your head on top of your monstrous creation."

The killer blanched in his grip and Sherlock contemplated going through with his threat for a second, when John's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "He isn't worth it. It will be worse for him to be in prison, instead of dying in his own... lab." A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock's lips. John was right, although his friend was only trying to prevent Sherlock from becoming a murderer himself, he was still right.

"Today is your lucky day," Sherlock snarled in Thomas' face and waited until he sagged in relief, before he drove his knee in the killer's stomach. A pained gasp echoed through the cellar and the bastard would have fallen to the ground, if Sherlock hadn't gripped his right arm and shoulder with both hands. Mere seconds passed, before two sickening cracks announced a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder.

"Please," Thomas had the guts to sob, when he hadn't shown any mercy for any of his victims and would have slit John's throat open without a second thought. Sherlock ignored his begging completely as he aimed for the killer's kidneys and he would have gone after his spleen and liver as well, if a quiet cough from John hadn't stopped him in his rage. "Not even Anderson will believe that he fell out of the cellar's window, if you keep this up." Sherlock snorted at the remark and winked at John, before he grabbed one of the nails on the table and drove it through the wrist of their killer - effectively nailing him to his own sick creation.

"Right, ambulance," John muttered behind him and Sherlock turned around to face his friend. An apology was on his lips - although he didn't feel sorry for impaling the killer on his own nail and rendering him immobile - but was never voiced as he met John's bright eyes. Now was not the time for insincere words, Sherlock realised as his friend crossed the space between them and he suddenly had an armful of John pressed against his chest.

Sherlock released a shuddering breath and closed his arms around his best friend. Warmth seeped from John's body into his and proved to Sherlock that his friend was alive. Alive and unharmed and nothing else mattered in this moment as they held onto each other - ignoring the screams of the killer - until the police stormed the building and they were forced to explain the whole situation to a pissed off Lestrade.


	2. Unconditional and Wholeheartedly

**Author Notes** : First of all, the trip to London was fantastic and I could have stayed longer, but I'm also glad that I can work on my stories once more.^^ Enjoy the new chapter and let me know what you think! :)

 **Unconditional and Wholeheartedly**

"This was absolutely mad," John giggled as they both tumbled over the threshold into their flat. He should probably worry about his mental state, if the memory of the last few hours sent him into a laughing fit, but he couldn't seem to stop. Not even, when he recalled the feeling of the cold blade against his throat. After all, he had survived with nothing more than a minor scratch to tell the tale of today, while Thomas Lang had been hauled off to the hospital, while stilled pinned to his own mad experiment.

John shook his head in fond exasperation as he recalled how Sherlock had beaten the killer up and then driven a nail through his wrist. Trust his friend to always be able to surprise him. John had known that Sherlock was a competent fighter, but he hadn't been aware that his friend was an expert in various martial arts - he had been too busy taking care of Mrs. Hudson, while Sherlock had beaten up someone, the last time.

"You loved it," Sherlock's voice sounded from the doorway of the kitchen, just when John reached for the kettle. "Well, the part, in which a mad man threatened to behead me wasn't so much fun, but...Yikes!"

The breath was knocked out of John, when Sherlock pressed him against the kitchen counter and claimed his lips in a bruising kiss. Hands roamed all over his body, sneaking underneath his shirt and stroking his heated skin, while John clung to Sherlock's shoulders for support as he was snogged to within an inch of his life. When they parted - gasping and panting for breath - there was no need for words as John quietly nodded to Sherlock's questioning glance in the direction of his bedroom.

Actually, John mused as he followed his friend into the bedroom, they should both be much too tired for this. After all, they had been up and about for the better part of forty-eight hours, with the added adrenalin spike of a life-or-death situation. Anyone else would order some take away and fall into bed, but then... John couldn't imagine that anyone else got themselves into this kind of situations. Therefore, it was almost impossible to make comparisons. Besides, John didn't feel tired - or even exhausted - as he stripped off his clothes and joined Sherlock under the covers. He would probably suffer from too little food and sleep tomorrow, but John couldn't seem to give a damn as he sealed Sherlock's lips in a passionate kiss. His friend melted against him and John allowed his hands to wander freely over Sherlock's body. His well muscled chest. His narrow waist and...

John blinked in confusion as his fingers encountered the fabric of pants and he broke the kiss, just as Sherlock started to speak. "John, there is something you should know."

Ah, there it was. John slapped himself mentally for forgetting that he had yet to assure Sherlock that everything was fine. "Shh," John placed a finger on the red kissed lips and met Sherlock's nervous gaze with a smile of his own. "I know. I have seen your medical record once, when you where at the hospital. It's fine. Completely fine."

Instead of the relieved smile, he had expected, John merely received a confused frown from his friend. "I doubt that what I'm about to tell you is listed in my medical records."

"But..." John started, but Sherlock silenced him with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh. "No, John, it's not. You and I are talking about different things."

Confused, John laid back down on his side to face Sherlock, who mirrored his position as he ran his fingers gently through John's short hair. "I know that you have seen my medical records, after all it was my doing that one of the nurses handed them to you."

"You...?!" John groaned quietly at the realisation that Sherlock had been one step ahead of him yet again. Of course, it was good to know that Sherlock himself had arranged for John to find out that he was transgender, but... it left John wondering what else his friend wanted to talk with him about, while they were in bed.

"Oh God, you aren't sick, are you?" John's heart jumped at the idea that his friend might have caught something, while he had been using all these years ago.

"If I were, you would have read about it in my medical records, although... some might tell you that I'm indeed sick, but that's just their uninformed opinion and not a diagnosis."

"Sherlock!" John didn't know how much longer he could stand the anticipation. His arousal had long since waned and he just wanted Sherlock to spit out whatever was troubling him. Yes, Sherlock Holmes - great consulting detective - was troubled by whatever he was trying to tell him and John didn't like it. Usually, Sherlock wasn't even nervous about admitting that he had exploded the microwave - yet again - so therefore, whatever it was, it had to be something serious.

"I'm not interested in sex."

John blinked, repeated the words in his mind and... laughed. Dear God, he had feared that his friend was hiding something heartbreakingly painful from him. A terrible scarred part of his body, due to an former injury or a surgery that had gone wrong. And John would have hated for his friend to live with such a painful remainder, but this... it was...

"Nice to know how to make you laugh," Sherlock's bitter voice sobered John instantly as he blinked the happy tears away to meet his friend's hurt gaze.

OOO

Sherlock should have expected it. After all, he was used to all kind of reactions, since he had figured out that he wasn't interested in sex. At least, not like others were interested in the mere physical act of giving and receiving pleasure with another human being. Said others - men and women alike - had given Sherlock more grieve for his lack of sexual interest than for him being transgender. That wasn't to say that there hadn't been some transphobic arseholes in his life, but... most relationships and friendships had ended, when Sherlock's sexuality - or lack of it - had come up. Some had wanted to convince him that he just hadn't found the _right one_ yet and others had accused him of being a tease. Each of these rejections had hurt, but none as badly as John's mocking laughter in the face of Sherlock's confession.

"Go on, laugh some more," Sherlock all but spat as he turned his back to John and curled in on himself. "Are you going to tell me - as a doctor - that everyone has sexual urges? Which is completely wrong. Or are you going to suggest that I just give it a _try_ with you? Or maybe you wonder why I even transitioned, when I'm not interested in sex."

"What?!"

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at John's shocked exclamation. His friend didn't look mockingly, if anything at all, John appeared sick to his stomach as he inched closer to Sherlock and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. For a second, Sherlock considered shrugging it off, but he decided against it, in the end. John had yet to insult Sherlock and it didn't look like this might happen in the near future, if his friend's facial expression was anything to go by. Besides, Sherlock found the warmth weight of John's touch grounding as his friend rubbed small circles on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry that I laughed. It wasn't..." John sighed and Sherlock noted out of the corner of his eye how he pinched his nose with his free hand. "It was an exhausting day. You had me worried that you were sick or something equally bad and I... I laughed because I was relieved."

"Relieved?" Sherlock echoed quietly and turned on his back to gaze up in John's exhausted, but honest face. "You are relieved that I'm not interested in sex?"

"Well," John shrugged. "I imagined all kind of horrible scenarios, it was like an anticlimax, when you told me that you are asexual. After all, it's nothing bad. Just a part of you, like me being bisexual is a part of me."

Sherlock blinked. It felt like his mind had gone offline while processing John's words. He couldn't recall anyone, who had ever reacted like this to his coming-out as asexual. Even Mycroft - who had always treated Sherlock as his little brother - couldn't seem to stop making cutting remarks about Sherlock's sexuality.

"And what has your transition to do with your sexuality?" Sherlock shook his head at the remainder of his heated words from before. "It was just something, an idiot told me once. That I shouldn't have bothered to transition, if I don't want to have sex. It's stupid."

"Definitely, especially since... No, this thought process is just so wrong that I can't even start to dismantle the logic behind it." A small chuckle escaped past Sherlock's lips at John's angry words as his body finally got the message that his friend wasn't mocking him and he relaxed against John's side.

Gentle fingers found their way to his curls and Sherlock sighed contently, when John massaged his scalp with just the right pressure to make Sherlock dozy. He was halfway on his way to sleep, when John's voice penetrated the warm cocoon of sleepiness once more. "If you aren't interested in sex, how am I to understand our heated kiss? I'm not accusing you of being a tease" John added hastily. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty and have sex with me, I just... I want to understand you. What you enjoy and where your boundaries are."

Sherlock shook off the last of his sleepiness and forced his mind to process the new information at high speed, as he gazed up at John in amazement. John H. Watson, the only man, who would always be able to surprise Sherlock. "So you still want to... have a relationship with me?"

Judging from John's words and the warm hand that still lingered on Sherlock's shoulder, there was no need to ask, but he had to be sure about it. Sherlock needed the verbal confirmation that the revelation of his sexuality hadn't changed John's mind on this important matter.

"Sherlock." The tender tone of John's voice, made Sherlock turn on his left sight as to lay face to face with his friend once more. "I wanted to be with you for years. I mourned you like a widower would mourn his husband, when you jumped from Bart's." A painful expression crossed John's features, but it vanished, before Sherlock could apologize for his faked death once more. "All I could think about in these two years was how I would like to get the chance to hold you in your sleep and kiss you awake in the morning. I even left Mary for you, when you came back, although I was ready to propose to her, at that time. I... Of course, I want to be your boyfriend."

"Partner," Sherlock corrected absently, while he couldn't help the brilliant smile that turned his lips upwards at John's passionate words.

"Fine. Partner, it is then," John chuckled quietly and carded his fingers through messy curls. "Now that this is settled... are you going to answer my former question?"

It took Sherlock a moment to recall how their conversation had proceeded so far - evidence of how exhausted he was - but then he nodded slowly at John. "Yes, well... I'm not interested in sex, but that doesn't mean that I'm adverse to it. I'm not disgusted by it, I just don't feel the urge to indulge in sexual activities. And the kiss," Sherlock bit down on his bottom lip as heat crept into his cheeks. "I needed to _feel_ that you are alive and to... make sure that the morning before the case wasn't just one of my daydreams."

"So, you daydream about us snogging in the kitchen?" The heat in Sherlock's face intensified, but he also relaxed at John's easy teasing. It had been longer than a decade, since someone had joked with him like this while in bed and even though Victor had been wonderful... he couldn't hold a candle to John. Not only because John was extraordinary - in his ordinary ways - but also because Sherlock... loved John. Really, it was as simple as that.

"But you didn't intend for anything sexual to happen between us afterwards?" From John's raised eyebrow, when Sherlock merely shrugged at the question, he suspected that John had expected a negative reply. "I told you, I'm not interested in sex, that doesn't mean that I don't enjoy it with someone I... care about."

"And by enjoy you mean...?"

"The intimacy of it. Touching, kissing, licking..." Sherlock gestured to their covered bodies to underline his point. "I'm not adverse to anything and yes, penetrative sex is included in this," Sherlock added with an eye roll, when John made to voice his question. "I just enjoy it on a different level than most people do."

"You mean, you aren't physically aroused by it?" John traced a cheekbone with his index finger and Sherlock leaned into the contact with a content sigh. "Yes and no. I can get physically aroused, if my body is stimulated in the right places, but... I don't like it. It feels horrible to me. You... you probably can't understand that." Sherlock lowered his head and glanced down at the sheets. He had come to terms with his sexuality years ago - although it had taken longer than for him to realise that he was a man - but after such conversations, Sherlock always felt like he was somehow... lacking. It didn't give him any comfort that there were other people like him. It never had. Maybe, because he was too different in every possible way and...

"No, I doubt that I can fully comprehend it," Sherlock sighed quietly to himself. "But I get that you enjoy intimacy in your own way and that I'm allowed to touch you as long as I don't try to arouse you, right?" There was a nervous edge to John's voice as he added a question ark to his sentence, but Sherlock couldn't reply, as he was too busy gaping at his friend - partner - in awe. John had listened to him. Truly listened and... Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John's lips in quiet confirmation as he couldn't find the right words to express how much John's compassion meant to him. Blue eyes softened in the light that filtered through the curtains, when John smiled at Sherlock and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"So, anything else, I need to know?" John yawned half-jokingly as he draw the covers up to his chin.

"I won't always want to have sex with you, when you feel like it," Sherlock blurted out, before he realised that John hadn't been entirely serious about this question. He clamped his mouth shut with an audible click, but the damage was already down. John's formerly soft eyes had darkened at his words and were now of a stormy blue as they regarded him. Sherlock knew that look. It was the look, John always got, before he did something _a bite not good_... like beating a criminal up for threatening Sherlock's life or breaking someone's nose to defend his friend's honor. Usually, Sherlock liked this expression, just not when it was aimed at him. He was just about to take his words back, when John's deadly calm voice cut through the silence in the bedroom. "Who did make you believe that you always need to have sex with them, when they felt like it?"

Sherlock blinked at the question. This wasn't the reaction he had expected. "You... aren't disappointed that I won't..."

"Christ, Sherlock! No, of course not!" John grinded his teeth as he shook his head vehemently. "Even if you are only up for sex once a year, that's fine. As long as I'm allowed to kiss and cuddle you and fall asleep next to you for the remaining 364 days of the year, I don't care. It's just... two people don't always feel like having sex at the same time. It's normal to not want to have sex, even when your partner wants it. It's... tell me their names and I'll pay them a visit."

Sherlock shook his head, even while he tried to wrap his mind around John's words. If he was to be believed - and Sherlock believed John - then Victor hadn't been as good a partner as Sherlock had always thought. He filled this new realisation away to be inspected at a later date, before he reached out to his friend and stroked John's arm soothingly. "It's fine. It was a long time ago. Let's just forget about it and go to sleep."

For a second it appeared like John was about to argue the point, but then he just sighed in defeat and nodded his agreement. "Alright, but you promise me to always tell me, when you aren't comfortable with something or don't feel like doing anything at all, okay?"

"I promise, John."

This got Sherlock another gentle kiss, before John snuggled up to him and Sherlock was allowed a few minutes of bathing in the warmth and scent of his friend, before the exhaustion of the day caught up with his body and he drifted off to sleep.

OOO

He was warm.

John sighed contently, but kept his eyes closed as he rose slowly from his deep slumber. He couldn't remember the last time, when he had slept so peacefully. Without nightmares or late night emergencies caused by his brilliant friend. Maybe, John mused with a lazy smile, his restful sleep was due to the presence of said friend in bed with him. It had always calmed John's mind, when he shared a bed with someone he cared about. Besides, sharing a bed with Sherlock had the added benefit that his friend couldn't get in any trouble, as long as he was lying next to John.

Something tickled his chest.

John forced his eyes open with a sigh - expecting to catch Sherlock with a feather in his hand - and blinked in confusion, when he looked down at messy curls on his chest. They hadn't fallen asleep in this position. So either, Sherlock had snuggled closer to him in his sleep or decided that John was as good as any pillow and changed their positions willfully. Whatever the answer, the sight of Sherlock - asleep and unguarded - made something warm swell in John's chest as he brought his hand up to ran his fingers gently through the messy curls. He had almost given up hope that they would ever end up like this. Together. In the same bed. Not out of necessity, but of their own free will, because... they had finally admitted that they were more than friends to each other.

John took a shaking breath and swallowed the happy tears that sprung to his eyes as it finally sunk in that this was real. After all these years - after walking through a morass of grief and regret, anger and relief - they had arrived here and John would never let go of Sherlock ever again, would never let go of the feelings that floated his chest in these seconds. Happiness. Contentment. Joy. A sense of homecoming after a long journey and... Love. Yes, John admitted to himself with a smile. Love was definitely a big part of what he was feeling right now, although it appeared too small a word to describe how much the man in his arms meant to him.

John gazed down at the sleeping form and smoothed Sherlock's slightly creased forehead with his index finger. He couldn't even start to describe how much his friend - and partner - meant to him. Sherlock was... his life. Really, it was as simple - or maybe not exactly simple but true nonetheless - as that. John couldn't and didn't want to exist without Sherlock by his side. "How you could ever believe that I would leave you just because you aren't interested in sex is beyond me," John whispered quietly, while Sherlock slumbered on. "Even if you never wanted to do anything sexual, I would still want to be with you." If he was honest with himself, the realisation had shocked John a little. Not the part, where he would give up on sex completely to be with Sherlock, but... that the thought hadn't bothered him. All of John's former relationships had included sex - his first experimentations with kissing at primary school notwithstanding - and it had always been an important part for him. Still, sex hadn't appeared essential anymore, when John had believed that he would have to choose between Sherlock and sex. He would always choose Sherlock.

"I love you," John whispered daringly into dark curls, when their owner snored quietly.

"I love you, too," a sleepy voice replied and John's heart stumbled in his chest, before it started a faster rhythm against his ribcage. "You're awake."

"Obviously." Blue eyes blinked up at John from under long lashes, a sly smile on the plush lips as Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's right nipple. "I can't sleep, when you are thinking so loudly."

John shook his head in fond exasperation. "You are incredible, but now that you are awake, I can finally get up."

His words hadn't been meant as a rejection in any way - John's full bladder had just gotten his attention - but Sherlock still shot up from his lying position and sat back on his heels. "Of course, you want to get up." Sherlock stared bitterly at a point behind John's head. "You don't see any need to stay in bed with me, when... nothing worthwhile is about to happen."

John gaped at Sherlock in horror as he sat slowly up himself. One part of him wanted to hug his friend and never let him go again. Another part - a very loud and angry part - of him, wanted to hunt down whoever had made Sherlock believe that it was only fine to stay in bed together to sleep and have sex. John couldn't articulate any of these thoughts, before Sherlock spoke once more. "If I promised you to make it worth your while, later, would you stay?"

John closed his eyes in a silent prayer and opened them again to Sherlock's nervous gaze. "No," he stated firmly and then hurried on, before his friend got the chance to misunderstand him even more. "I really have to get up, to take a piss... and maybe brush my teeth, but I intend to come back. No matter if we continue sleeping or cuddling or you tell me everything about the different species of bees once more." John leaned forward and pressed a closed mouth kiss to Sherlock's lips. "If something more happens and we both feel like giving it a go, that's fine as well, but it's not a must. Never. Please, don't ever assume something like this again."

John watched Sherlock's Adam's apple pop up and down as he swallowed and finally nodded. "Yes, alright... Sorry, John, I was just..." Sherlock shrugged helplessly and John's heart constricted painfully in his chest as it was squeezed together by an onslaught of emotions. "It's fine, Love. It's just our first morning together, we will figure it out." Blue eyes lit up at the endearment, as Sherlock nodded and John made a mental note to use it more often, before his bladder made its presence known once more and John hurried to the bathroom.

After the most pressing business was taken care of, John brushed his teeth and shaved the considerable amount of stubbles - no surprise after two days without a razor - and then opted for a quick shower as well.

Refreshed and clean, he was greeted by the delicious scent of pancakes and brewed coffee, when he left the bathroom. Furrowing his brow, John ventured carefully into the kitchen and sighed in relief, when he spotted Sherlock handling the pans, instead of Mrs. Hudson as he had feared.

"Don't burn yourself," John warned Sherlock, who was only clad in his pants, as he retrieved mugs and plates from the cupboard.

"I won't." Blue eyes swept over John's naked body - expect for a towel around his hips - and widened, before Sherlock handed the spatula to John. "Especially not, since you are taking over now."

"What?" John stared at the pan and then at Sherlock, who hurried in the direction of the bathroom. "When you are finished with the pancakes, bring them into the bedroom. Don't forget the syrup or the coffee." With this the bathroom door was clicked shut and John shook his head with a fond smile, even while he sighed in mild annoyance. It was fine for Sherlock to want to take a shower after he had noticed that John had taken one, but... John didn't really fancy baking pancakes, when he was clad in nothing but a towel. Still, breakfast in bed... Sherlock was obviously more of a romantic than he let on.

Mollified by this promising thought, John followed Sherlock's orders and had just prepared everything for their lazy morning breakfast in bed and gotten back under the covers - propped up against the backrest of the bed - when his boyfriend emerged from the bathroom. And by God, Sherlock looked gorgeous, all tousled, wet curls and stray drops of water running down his naked body. Yes, John noted once more as his eyes trailed down the whole length of Sherlock's body, he was definitely completely naked. Neither towel nor pants stopped John from taking in all of his boyfriend's beauty and his cock gave an involuntary twitch at the sight.

John glared quietly down at the traitor - which was thankfully hidden underneath the covers - when an amused chuckle made him look up in surprise. "It's fine, John," Sherlock winked at him as he sat down on top of the covers and leaned back against a pillow. "You shouldn't feel like you have to hide your bodily reactions from me. I told you, I'm not disgusted by them and... I feel rather flattered by your interest in me."

John watched fascinated how a faint blush spread from Sherlock's chest up to his ears and he couldn't withstand the temptation of leaning over and stealing a kiss from plush lips. "You are bloody amazing," John whispered and then turned his attention back to the pancakes, before certain parts of his body could get more interested in Sherlock than his stomach was interested in food.


	3. Undefined and Beautiful

**Author Notes** : The final chapter of this story - Enjoy! :)

 **Undefined and Beautiful**

John was incredible.

Sherlock had lost count how often he had voiced this exact thought in his mind, but it didn't become less true. Sherlock had never met someone like John. Everyone else would have tried to initiate sex, after Sherlock had walked into the room, covered in nothing but a few stray water drops.

Sherlock watched John out of the corner of his eyes as his friend helped himself to his third pancake. He was definitely aroused. It was obvious from the way John held himself and how he minutely shifted his legs underneath the covers. And yet, he neither touched him nor devoured Sherlock's naked form with his eyes.

"Of course not, we are both enjoying our breakfast in bed, it's not really the time to initiate anything." John smiled fondly at him and Sherlock realised to his horror that he had given voice to his thoughts. "Firstly, it could lead to disaster with the pancakes, the syrup and the coffee on the bed and secondly... Just because I have a hard on, doesn't mean that I have to act on it, right this minute... or at all."

Sherlock frowned at the last part of John's short speech as he munched on a piece of pancake that was drowned in syrup. "You don't have to hold back just for my sake, you know. Even if I don't feel like doing anything, you are free to touch yourself."

The coughing fit that followed his words, made Sherlock wonder what he had done wrong, while he patted John's back and waited for his friend to get his breath back. When he did, John had amused tears in his eyes as he reached out and traced the back of Sherlock's hand with his fingers. "If I had acted on every erection I ever had, I would never have been able to share a bed with my former partners. Sometimes, it just happens, it doesn't mean that I have or want to act on it."

Sherlock frowned slightly at this. From his experiences - especially with men - he had gathered that they always wanted to act on their arousal. So either, John was lying - which Sherlock highly doubted - or it had something to do with the age of his former partners. His romantic encounters had all taken place in his twenties, before Sherlock had turned his back on any and all relationships... until John.

"It might have something to do with their age," John replied and Sherlock made a note to watch his mouth more closely, the next time, when he was thinking. "But if they always wanted to act on each and every spark of arousal and expected you to be available to them... they were arseholes. Your sexuality notwithstanding," John placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock's knuckles and a warm shiver ran down his spine. "You just don't act towards your partner like this."

Sherlock furrowed his brow, but nodded nonetheless at John's serious expression. He had always suspected that a relationship with John would be different from his previous experiences, but even he - the only consulting detective in the world - hadn't anticipated just how _different_ it would be. It was almost indecent how fast his heart beat at the notion of getting to know all of John's hidden sides, now that they were together.

Sherlock grinned and transferred another pancake to his plate and added a heavy helping of syrup to the heavenly dish. "I see," Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John's muttered words, his mouth too full of pancake to answer. "I finally know how to get you to eat, when you are in one of your sulking moods."

"I never sulk," Sherlock protested half-heartedly and smiled quietly at the way his denial tore a laugh from John's lips. John was beautiful when he was laughing. His eyes flashed with mirth and amusement, while the lines around them crinkled in joy. Not to speak of the dimple at the corner of John's lips, which only appeared, when he was laughing or the way John's nose wrinkled adorably, while his whole body shook with joy. Before Sherlock had thought his actions through, he leaned forwards and sealed John's upturned lips with his own. A small gasp - paired with a chuckle - was torn from John's throat, before he returned the kiss in kind. It wasn't heated or frantic, merely a gentle and careful exploration of each other's lips, even when tongues came into play.

Sherlock sighed contently, when one of John's hands settled down in his hair, while the other stroked up and down his back. He loved this. This closeness to John. The warmth that spread from John's body into his, not only fueled by his friend's body heat, but also by the feelings that appeared to pour out of John and into Sherlock as their kiss deepened. Sherlock blinked one eye open briefly to check their exact positions and then moved on the bed, until he was straddling John's lap and kissing became more comfortable than while they both had been sitting sideways on the bed. He was just about to lower himself completely on John's lap, when strong hands on his hips stopped Sherlock in his motion and he broke the kiss as he glanced quizzically at John.

"I told you that I don't mind to feel your arousal, John. We can even get the covers out of the way. I really like to touch you." Sherlock returned John's amused look steadily and only a little confused as to why his friend was grinning up at him. Certainly, it couldn't be this amusing that Sherlock wanted to touch John. They had talked about this and Sherlock wouldn't even mind any sexual activities right now. In fact, he would really enjoy touching his friend everywhere, cataloging his reactions and making him enjoy himself. Still, if John didn't want to...

"You are about to get an even sweeter arse than you already have." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the illogical statement. "You don't make any sense, John."

"And you are about to sit down on a plate, filled with pancakes and syrup, genius. So, if you don't fancy a sticky arse, I would suggest you not to sit down, just yet."

Sherlock glanced behind himself and spotted said plate with an annoyed sigh. One reason against breakfast in bed, he noted mentally, even when John reached behind him and placed the plate on the ground. Sherlock's own - still half-filled plate - went the same way, before John focused his attention back on Sherlock. "So - just to be clear - you are interested in doing something sexual, right now or do you just want to snog and cuddle? Both is fine with me, by the way." Sherlock noted the honesty mirrored in John's eyes and made a decision. "I want to touch you and to be close to you and... I would really like to see how you look, when you climax."

"For scientific reasons," John joked and Sherlock grimaced in distaste. "No, it's never for science with you. At least not when we are like this." Sherlock pursed his lips as he tried to come up with a way to explain his motivation to John. "I want to see you enjoy yourself in this way. I want to fill your expressions and reactions away in a special wing in my Mind Palace, while knowing that it was I, who brought you such joy and..."

The rest of his sentence was swallowed by John's mouth and Sherlock allowed him to move them around, until they were facing each other, while lying on their sides. "I'm sorry for this stupid joke," John murmured as he showered Sherlock's face in kisses. "I know that not everything is about science for you."

Sherlock accepted John's apology with a deep kiss and by the time, they broke apart, a rock hard erection was pressed against Sherlock's abdomen and he watched in fascination as a drop of pre-come rolled of its head. He sent his right hand between their bodies and frowned in surprise, when John caught his wrist, before Sherlock could so much as touch him.

"I really want this," Sherlock assured his friend as he glanced up in John's tense face. "If I didn't want to touch you, I would tell you."

"Duly noted." John winked at him and took a deep breath afterwards, but didn't let go of Sherlock's wrist. "But if you touch me now, it will be over much too soon and I... would it be alright with you if I touched and kissed you for some time, beforehand?"

Sherlock blinked and then nodded his consent as he rested his hand on John's thigh. "Yes, of course, just don't..."

"Try to arouse you," John finished the sentence for him. "I won't, promised." And for the first time in his life, Sherlock trusted someone's word on this subject. All his former partners had tried to stimulate his body sexually, at some point in their relationship. One or two had even succeeded in forcing an orgasm from Sherlock - when he had still been too young and inexperienced to stop them. They had proclaimed him _cured_ afterwards, without noticing how much their forced attention had shaken Sherlock. It hadn't even crossed their minds that a bodily reaction didn't say anything about sexual attraction or that arousal was more than the total sum of stimulated nerve endings. Sherlock pushed these memories from his mind, as he closed the space between John's and his lips and allowed his friend to take the lead as their kiss deepened. A warm tongue explored his mouth, swept over his front teeth and nudged Sherlock's own tongue playfully, while eager hands roamed over his body. Sherlock pulled on John's good shoulder, until his friend got the hint and allowed him to roll on his back and draw John on top of him.

"Is this alright?" John broke their kiss and locked eyes with Sherlock as he settled more fully down on top of him.

"Yes." Sherlock couldn't help the content sigh that escaped his lips at being so close to John and feeling him like this. "It's perfect and... grounding." He blushed at his own words, but John only smiled and lay completely down on top of Sherlock, until they were chest to chest. "So this is something else you enjoy. I'm glad, I definitely enjoy it as well."

Sherlock couldn't say how long they stayed like this as he bathed in the warmth of John all around him, until his friend shifted against him and placed a tentative kiss on Sherlock's clavicle. It was the first of many to come, as John focused his whole attention on Sherlock's chest and explored the skin with lips and hands. Sherlock melted back into the pillow as John's loving ministrations filled him with a comfortable warmth, until...

"Yikes!"

Sherlock shot upright, even when John sat back on his heels with a sly grin on his face. "Sorry, I couldn't withstand the temptation."

"What did you just do?" The question left Sherlock's mouth, before he could think about it twice and he didn't get the chance to take it back, when John leaned back down, closed his lips around his navel and... blew.

Sherlock giggled as his whole stomach vibrated and John grinned up at him. "It's called _blowing raspberries_ , you seem to like it."

"No, not at all," Sherlock denied and John would probably have believed him, if he had managed to keep that stupid grin from his face. As it was, his friend spent the next few minutes abusing his navel, until Sherlock was a laughing mess on the bed. "Stop... please, stop," Sherlock hiccupped and John's lips stopped their loving torture at once.

"Sorry, I got carried away a little." John looked up from where his head rested on Sherlock's s stomach. His eyes worried as they met blue ones and Sherlock could deduce what was going through John's head, even while he tried to get his breathing back. "I enjoyed this. It just became a bite too much... Obviously, you have figured out where I'm ticklish." A boyish grin lit up John's whole face at the reassurance, as he placed a final kiss on Sherlock's navel and then turned his attention to the places that lay below.

Sherlock trusted John - he really did - but he couldn't stop himself from holding his breath, when John started to massage his thighs and rubbed his cheek against the curls of Sherlock's pubic hair. He had lost count of how many times something had gone wrong at this point in the past - for various reasons - and although he trusted John, Sherlock still tensed up, when one finger stroked between his curls.

"Shall I stop?" Soft blue eyes looked questioningly up at him and Sherlock was at a loss of how to reply. He didn't mind John touching his crotch - in general - but the idea didn't sound appealing to him today. Maybe because, he had spent too much time thinking of the past or...

"Is it fine if I play a little with your hair down here, without stroking between your legs or shall I stop completely?" John's voice suggested that either option was fine with him and Sherlock allowed himself to relax. "Don't stop completely, but... stay above my navel, please."

"Whatever you feel comfortable with, Love." John complied without farther questions and all of Sherlock's remaining worries were drowned in loving kisses, until he was once more lulled into John's warmth. His mind only kicked back in, when he noted how John held his hips away from his body. Grinning into the kiss, Sherlock sneaked one hand between their bodies and closed it around John's cock. It was hard, yet smooth and warm and Sherlock decided he liked the texture of it as he stroked it tentatively. The moan, the action tore from John was an added bonus and without a warning, Sherlock rolled them over, until he was on top. The new position didn't only give him a better leverage, but it also offered him a perfect view of John as his boyfriend came slowly apart under his touches.

Sherlock noted how John's breathing pattern changed, when he sped up the motion of his hand around his cock. He filled away the exact shade of pink, in which John's chest and face flushed, when Sherlock used his other hand to massage his bollocks. An information about the exact number of beads of perspiration, which adorned John's forehead, was added to the spreadsheet about John in his Mind Palace, as was his pulse, right before he climaxed.

Only the part, in which John came with a loud groan, when Sherlock kissed his lips, didn't find its way in the analytical part of his mind. The memory was filled away in his heart, just like the way John clung to Sherlock afterwards and murmured his name like a prayer.

OOO

"You're beautiful," John whispered as he traced the line of Sherlock's collarbone with his index finger.

"Beauty is a social construct. I'm just lucky that how I look is considered attractive in our society. People from, let's say India, probably wouldn't..." John interrupted Sherlock's rant with a brief peck to his lips and chuckled quietly. "You know, you could just accept a compliment, without complaint."

"I wasn't complaining," Sherlock turned onto his side and John smiled, when his boyfriend was face to face with him once more. "I was merely stating some facts."

A quiet sigh escaped John's lips at this, but he couldn't seem to keep the sappy smile from his face, even when faced with one of Sherlock's numerous quirks. His good mood might have something to do with coming apart at his boyfriend's hands earlier. The fantastic handjob certainly hadn't been harmful to John's feelings. Still, even though the sex had been breathtaking, it wasn't the main reason for the silly grin on his face. No, John mused as he carded his hands through messy curls, the truth was far more complex than this. Even if they had only cuddled in bed for hours, John would still have considered himself to be the happiest man on earth. All because of one consulting genius, who was currently tracing John's jawline with his fingers - no doubt cataloging at what rate his stubbles were growing.

John swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat, when Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's middle and snuggled up against him. God help him, but John couldn't fathom how he came to deserve someone as amazing as Sherlock. He wasn't just beautiful - this was only a superficial part of him - but also a brilliant genius, a mad scientist, a total prick - more often than not - and stronger than anyone John had ever met in his entire life. And yet, at the same time, Sherlock could also be vulnerable and insecure, although he didn't allow many people close enough to see that side of him. John's arms came up around his boyfriend and tightened of their own volition, when he remembered how hurt Sherlock had appeared, when he had believed that John didn't accept his sexuality. He never wanted to see Sherlock looking like this ever again - hurt and insecure. And he despised everyone, who had ever made Sherlock feel like he was lacking in any way, because of his sexuality. If he could, John would give each of these people a piece of his mind - and a good beating - but since this wouldn't change the past and only cause more problems, the thought would remain a fantasy.

"You are fidgety." Sherlock lifted his head, from where it was bedded on John's chest, and frowned down at him. "Why? You aren't sexually aroused - your refractory period isn't this good anymore - and you are lying in a comfortable position. Your shoulder can't hurt you, so... Oh!"

John raised an eyebrow, when Sherlock struggled to sit up, but let his arms fall open to allow his boyfriend to move. He regretted his decision a second later, when Sherlock leaned back against the headboard and stared down at the sheets. "I apologize for making you uncomfortable, John. I should have realised that I was way too clingy and..."

"Stop right there!" John sat up as well and inched closer to Sherlock until their thighs were touching. "You weren't clingy. I like to cuddle and I would have said something, if I had been uncomfortable at any time." When Sherlock didn't look convinced at all, John filled the option of going to Mycroft and getting the names of all of Sherlock's exes away for later consideration, even while he tried to come up with something to restore the relaxed atmosphere from before. He didn't want to discuss his murderous thoughts with Sherlock, but if he tried lying to his boyfriend, then it would only backfire on John. Thankfully, Sherlock wasn't the only one who was graced by strokes of genius - although John got them far less frequently - and he allowed himself a small smile as he leaned into Sherlock's side. "I was just wondering what I could do for you."

At least this got Sherlock's interest as he turned his head to meet John's open gaze. "Why would you want to do something for me?"

"You just gave me a fantastic handjob and I wondered how I could reciprocate." It wasn't even a lie. John had wondered how to share some of his pleasure with Sherlock, when his boyfriend wasn't interested in sex, since his mind had come down from his endorphin induced high. So far, only vague ideas had formed in his mind, but not a concrete way to please his boyfriend.

"You don't have to reciprocate." Sherlock sounded bewildered at even the idea of it. "I don't want you to perform any sexual acts. I thought this was clear."

"Yes, it was and that's why I'm not talking about sexual acts, but... whatever else you would enjoy." Sherlock's expression grew even more bewildered and John had to hold tight on his temper as not to demand the names of his exes anyway. Instead, he opted for staying relaxed as he rubbed soothing circles on Sherlock's shoulder. "I could run you a bath or we could just cuddle some more. I could also give you a massage or we could grill marshmallows in the fireplace."

The tense atmosphere broke, when Sherlock snorted at the last one and turned to lean more heavily against John's side. "Mrs. Hudson would be appalled if we ruined the fireplace."

John grinned as he drew the covers up to cover their chests. "It probably wouldn't be worse than the one time you tried to determine if the flames were hot enough to burn a suckling to ashes."

"It was essential for the solution of a case," Sherlock muttered halfheartedly and then a considering look crossed his face, combined with an adorable blush. "If you really mean it - this reciprocating thing - there is something..."

"Yes?" John encouraged Sherlock with a kiss to his flushed cheek.

"I really like... if you would brush my hair, but you don't have to..."

"Where is your brush?"

OOO

"Perfect," Sherlock purred, which earned him a chuckle from John, as his boyfriend disentangled more of his curls and brushed them with just the right amount of force to make the experience enjoyable.

"Good, if I ever grow tired of working as a doctor and stitching you back together, I'll just open up my own hairdresser's shop." John scratched the nails of his right hand lightly across his scalp and Sherlock sighed contently. "No, I don't want you to do this to anyone else."

"I certainly wouldn't brush the hairs of any costumers, while they were lying naked in bed and I doubt that a lot of people would enjoy the experience like you do, but," John placed a light kiss on Sherlock's left shoulder blade. "I return the sentiment. I only want to brush your hair and no one else's."

"Mhm," Sherlock hummed noncommittal and all but melted into the mattress, when John kept brushing his hair with sure strokes. He almost couldn't remember the last time, someone had brushed his hair. Probably Mummy or Mycroft - maybe even his Dad - but Sherlock wasn't certain if it had occurred before or after he had started his transition. Most likely before he had come out to his family, since he vaguely recalled a time, when he had worn his hair short - almost completely shaven off - as not to be mistaken for a girl. He had started to grow it out again towards the end of his last school year, but by then, Sherlock had been much too old to allow Mummy to brush his hair. As for his former partners - women and men alike - none of them had appeared interested in fighting with his messy curls and truthfully, Sherlock wouldn't have trusted them with his hair. Of course, his hair got brushed, whenever he went to the hairdresser for a cut, but then it was completely professional and not nearly as enjoyable as it was, when John brushed his hair.

Goosebumps rose all over Sherlock's body, when his boyfriend loosened an especially terrible knot in his curls and he rubbed his cheek against the pillow as he bathed in the feeling. John was wonderful with his hands. At first, Sherlock had feared that this experiment would end in a disaster, as John would certainly grow tired of his stubborn hair and regret his offer. Obviously though, Sherlock had been wrong - as unlikely as it sounded. John didn't appear annoyed or irritated at all. If anything, Sherlock suspected that his boyfriend enjoyed the experience as he had started to hum quietly to himself and spent at least a whole minute on each strand of his hair, before he went on to the next one.

"You are like a giant cat," John grinned and Sherlock stretched lazily, when fingers stroked the nap of his neck teasingly. "A lazy, demanding, stubborn, stunning and absolutely beautiful cat." Sherlock decided to take the words as a compliment as his eyes fell shut of their own accord and he basked in the warmth and attention, John bestowed upon him. Sleep hovered at the edge of his consciousness and Sherlock allowed himself to drift in and out of a lazy slumber, while John's fingers ran through his hair. His touches were relaxing and grounding at the same time and they stopped much too soon for Sherlock's liking, when John shifted on the bed - probably to put the brush on the nightstand - and spooned up behind Sherlock.

"Why stop?" The complaint came over rather weak as Sherlock's mind couldn't seem bothered to stay online, when sleep lured just around the corner.

"Because you are falling asleep and I would rather hold you, while you rest for another couple of hours or so."

This sounded nice, Sherlock decided, although he couldn't stop himself from pointing out the obvious. "My hair will be messy again, if I," Sherlock yawned and felt himself sinking deeper into the embrace of sleep. "Fall asleep now."

"Then, I'll just brush your hair again, after you have woken up."

No point to argue with this kind of logic, Sherlock mused as a warm nose nuzzled his neck as he drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that John would still be there with him, when he woke up.


End file.
